and we will never be afraid again
by her-eyes-fiery-pinpricks
Summary: Books were scattered across the floor, dust dominated the fresh air, and his beloved pictures had fallen to the ground. He cringed at the thought of having to clean this up. No matter. No, that didn't matter now. It was over. Good had won. Still, he questioned. Oneshot, rated K for being rated K . Couldn't think of good genres.


**Inspired by the scene in HBP when Slughorn tells Harry about his pet fish. My first Slughorn, to be exact…I hope he isn't OOC :P**

**NOTE ABOUT THE PICTURE: I had a really perfect one, but it wouldn't fit, and the head was cut off, so...after four tries I found this one, and the _nose _was cut off this time...but I don't care. It's still Francis.**

**and we will never be afraid again**

There were too many hurt faces and too much solemn, forced laughter that he figured no one would think of him different if he left and "looked in his office for anything of use".

Or what was left if it. It was a mess.

Books were scattered across the floor, dust dominated the fresh air, and his beloved pictures had fallen to the ground. He cringed at the thought of having to clean this up.

But he was used to this feeling. His office was always _a bit _disorderly….So what harm was this, really?

What he was supposed to be looking for, he didn't know. Something of use. Paper doesn't heal cuts and scrapes. Especially when it was flooded with incorrect answers and far-off explanations for what's in an Alihotsy Draught…

No matter. No, that didn't matter now. The war was over and he had probably lost his grade book.

He shunned that thought again, scolding himself, People have died! You're worrying about exam answers?

So he walked slowly through the clutter, trying not to step on the mess, not finding anything in one piece. Huh, he thought. Like us.

It was over. Good had won. Voldemort was dead, and no one had to fear to say his name again. Still, when he attempted to, it wouldn't come out, as if the villain would appear at the sound of it. To think that he taught someone like that, someone who lived to live off another…It was hard for Horace to comprehend, knowing that he gave the answers to this madman, and so many lives have been stolen because of it.

_Stop it, _he shook his head. _He _made the decision. Horace had no part of it.

And there was nothing to be discouraged about, he told himself. We're safe. We're safe.

Still, the heaviness weighed him down, and he wondered if he'll ever forget this night. It had been a long one.

And, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a twinkle.

He turned around, squinting to find the source, since that twinkle had been small and almost unrecognizable.

There, on the back desk, where he kept his things that couldn't be organized, which included usually everything-a clear glass bowl, only big enough for a lily petal.

Surprised, he crept closer, stepping on more test papers and not caring.

A tiny, lavender fish swam around the diameter of the bowl happily, darting up to the top of the bowl and dropping back to the bottom.

"Francis?" he questioned, touching the bowl and smiling slightly. His head lifted up.

_"Lily?"_

He spun around, trying to see something he didn't see before, but the chaotic room was still there.

Disappointed, he looked back at the fish. No, it can't be the same one, he said. Francis disappeared twenty years ago. When…

He couldn't bring himself to say it, let alone think it. But it was true. Years after the day the lily petal sneak and transformed into Francis, the fish died, suffering the same fate Lily did.

He knew no reason why a fish, _identical to Francis, _would appear tonight. It definitely wasn't a prank. No one knew about Francis. Except the Potter boy, who Horace knew wasn't one for pranks.

So…what was the meaning of this?

He knew there was only one practical answer. And, when he realized this, he smiled brightly, turning around and preparing to go downstairs to say that he had found that _something of use._

Love. Love was back, and it wasn't hiding from evil's cruel grip anymore. It showed on the professors' face as they came to their students' aid and the smile of the teenagers when they saw their lover safe.

It might have been a lily petal that created Francis at first, but the true reason for his re-creation was the love that had been shown that night, no matter how much hate had tried to thwart it.

Lily's sacrifice was ever so present that night, and Horace was innumerably grateful for it. He knew that that bowl will never be empty again, because love had prevailed, as it always will.  
**  
**The world had its gift back, and they would never be afraid to smile again.  
**  
Review? Concrit is accepted and appreciated ;)**


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